


A Green Eyed Demon

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Nathan is a Thot, Orgy, Rough Sex, Sort of Intentional Voyeurism, Tactile Telekinesis, Telekinetic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 13:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15172058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Nate fucks everyone but Wade, Wade notes, without any jealousy or upset at all, because he is a mature man.





	A Green Eyed Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a request on the CablePool Discord server, this got a little out of hand.

Wade’s not jealous.

It’s not in his system to be jealous. You have to have some kind of focus to get jealous, a sense of attachment, of entitlement. You have to expect to get something or own something or deserve something to be jealous over it.

Wade doesn’t have anything like that, not at all. Especially not for _Nate_.

Nathan Dayspring Achoo Summers? Nah, Nathan Thot Summers, more like. The man is _consistently_ DTF, as long as the other party is of age, willing, and not Wade.

So what? Wade doesn’t care. There’s plenty of blind prostitutes, if you know where to look, and if you don’t, there’s always Ms. Michigan.

While Nate fucks his way through their team-mates, contacts, and probably plenty of strangers too, Wade doesn’t even think about it. Much.

Okay, so maybe he wonders about how Colossus was in bed. And Domino. And if they get together sometimes for threesomes. But that’s all spank-bank wondering, not _jealousy_ , so the point still stands. Spank-bank wondering was healthy, perfectly normal, even if you suddenly couldn’t quit grinning when you around certain other people because you’d conditioned yourself the think of all the naughty things they got up to.

He wonders what it’s like with Nate, one on one. If he’s as growly rough in the sheets as he is in conversation. Or if that softer side crept in, or – oh, better, if it was _both_. Dirty talk and gentle hands, the perfect combination. He had to be good to be scoring so consistently, right? Did he suck dick? Did he let that stupid perfect hair get roughed up?

Course, he was more laid back around other people these days, but he still sneered at Wade’s antics. Wade understood, honestly. He hated him too, it was the easier, more natural route to take.

It all starts to get dangerously complicated when he tries to go visit Nate just to annoy him and drink his shitty beer and get called names, you know, the _usual_ , only to approach the door of his apartment and _hear_ someone moaning, high and satisfied and oh so very pornographic.

Wade never knows _who_ is getting dicked down in there, because he usually does the logical thing and books it, fast as his little legs will carry him. He does know that Nate is a busy, busy boy, because it becomes the norm for Wade to cautiously approach the door, only to hear scuffling furniture, moans, or slapping skin. He wants to tell Nate to invest in a place with thicker walls, but you can’t exactly sprinkle that into convo without outing yourself for taking a listen now and then.

And honestly, he doesn’t care. It’s just _Nate_ , not like there’s anything for him to be jealous over, except maybe the for the time he stops by and hears something heavy slam, gets worried, any then hears of all things _Piotr_ laughing, a sort of broken, gasping, ‘that was funny but my brains are getting dicked out’ kind of laugh. Then, he’s only jealous because he’s been trying to get into those metal pants for _ever_ and if anyone should be getting metal Ruski dick, it should, by all rights, be _him_.

That marks the first time he’d found an excuse to lurk in the alley under Nate’s open window, listening to the muffled sounds of his comrades fucking each other while he leans against the wall, masturbating unhappily as he imagines being inside, instead of outside, with someone buried deep in _him_. And yeah, maybe it didn’t make a whole lot of sense that it was Nate he kept thinking of, pushing him down and shoving into him, as eager for him as it sounded like he was for Colossus, but so fucking what, it was just because it was Nate’s apartment. Or something.

Suddenly instead of running away, _that_ becomes the routine. Hiding behind a convenient dumpster, straining to listen to the amazing (he has to assume) sex being had in the apartment, jerking off and thinking about Nate.

God, ‘cause _that’s_ not fucking pitiful or anything.

He thinks about trying to drop some hints that he’s interested in what Nate’s dishing out to the rest of the goddamn world, but the words stick in his throat, turn into dirty jokes and flirts that are so transparent that they can’t be taken seriously. Par for the fucking course.

It becomes easier to avoid him. Only go over when he needs something, and even then, scurry away at the first sexy sign emanating from the apartment, stop going on missions together unless Nate comes asking him to help out. A man can only jack it so many times behind a dumpster before he starts having unhealthy associations with the smell of hot trash. He can think about getting fucked six ways to Sunday by everyone’s favorite scowling soldier in his own room, thankyouverymuch, and it’s nicer to jerk off where there are clean tissues on hand.

Avoidance is great, perfectly healthy, he’s like 90% sure its one of the good coping mechanisms. So of course Nate has to spoil it by texting him out of the blue. Asking him to come over and talk, straight up, like he _missed_ him or something. And Wade can’t even mock him for it without drawing attention to the fact that he’s been staying away consciously.

Pulling on clothes that smell relatively clean, he heads over to Nate’s, still wary as he approaches to door, half expecting to hear the sounds of someone getting super lucky. When he doesn’t, he knocks.

Nate lets him step inside, closes the door, and then rounds on him, pressing him back against the door.

“What’s wrong with you, Wilson?”

“Wrong with me? I’m pretty sure you’re the one shovin’ people –”

Nate cuts him off. “You slink around, _listen in_ on private moments, jerk off in the alley at least once – that I know of, god knows how many times I don’t, you fucking deviant – and then try to drop off the face of the earth and what? Hide in your room, like a dejected little boy?”

Those eyes are sharp on him, pissed off but sparked with something else, a certain interest Wade can’t credit on his good looks and charming personality.

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t _slink_ ,” he starts, and then lifts his hands between them in placation trying really hard not to _get_ hard over the way Nate snarls his name, like a warning. “Okay, okay. Agree to disagree, the old American standby, right? But I mean, seriously your apartment sounds like a fucking whorehouse half the time, and I wasn’t getting any so I just kinda took care of myself outside and left you to it, right? That’s manners, Nate, someday we’ll teach you some.”

He’s painfully aware that he’s rambling, but Nate lets him go for a few minutes, before rolling his eyes and clapping a metal hand over his mouth.

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

That does what the hand across his face could not, shutting him up proper. He doesn’t trust himself not to say something to ruin this, so he nods slowly, cautious. That, evidently, is enough.

Shoving him back into the wall, Nate kisses Wade, hard and sloppy, teeth and tongue and _god_ those lips are soft. Must be all that lip balm. Fuck, it’s nice, and he has to pinch himself in the thigh, discreet but hard, to make sure this isn’t some kind of lust-driven dream. And nope, no it is not, Nate is really here biting on his lips and swapping spit and its so much better than Wade would have expected.

“You know I was gonna stop by here yesterday, but –”

“Shut up, Wade,” Nate growls and kisses him again. Wade lets himself get lost for a moment, whimpering as he’s dragged in close, metal fingers kneading his ass.

But as soon as Nate shifts to kiss at his neck, he’s babbling again, right were he left off. “– I got there and saw Doms, Chrome Bone, and _Dopinder_ strolling out together, looking like the three most well fucked humans on the planet.”

“And?”

“ _Dopinder_?” Wade presses, moving in so they’re hip to hip, unable to ignore each other’s erection. “Just surprised to see your racism allows for –”

“I’m not a racist, you fucking moron.” Nate grinds out, and then bites, hard enough Wade swears there must be blood, on the joint between shoulder and neck. Pulls away when Wade moans, cracking the back of his head into the wall. “You want to get fucked, or you just want to talk?”

“Por que no los dos?” Wade snarks back, grinding fervently against Nate, eager and desperate for contact. He’s registering a nasty feeling in his chest, thinking about how literally everyone had gotten into Nate’s pants before they managed to hook up, and damnit Wade’s a slut too, he’s just harder to look at, so why in hell would he be _jealous_ of Nate getting lucky.

Huffing something somewhere between a groan and a laugh, Nate just shakes his head and catches Wade’s mouth in another kiss. Which is fair, a fair way to shut him up.

Nate moves his hand down to Wade's belt, gets his pants down and then almost tears his shirt off – a seam _definitely_ pops, but Wade’s a little too distracted to care – before dragging him away from the wall and throwing him down on the bed in a whirlwind of movement that Wade can barely process, literally tripping out of his jorts and stumbling to fall on his back. _Hello there, pushiness_. His cock is so hard now, red and throbbing. The pang somewhere deep inside him hasn't left, just mutated into feelings that are threatening to burst from his chest.

"Oh god, yes," he says, pulling Nate back to him and kissing him. His legs spread open, and Nate's cock brushes against his through the roughness of the jeans Nate’s still wearing. He thinks Nate should be naked now too, and pushes his hands insistently under Nate's shirt, tugging at it to get it off. They unfortunately have to break apart for Nate's shirt to join Wade's clothes down on the floor.

"Nate, _c’mon_ , you said you’d fuck me, I was thinking some time _tonight_ puh-leese," he begs, buries his fingers in Nate's hair and pulls. That earns him a sincere snarl of something like anger, but somehow more pointed, more direct, and _fuck_ but that goes right to his dick.

“Pull my hair again, I’ll feed you your hands, got it?”

“Got it,” Wade says, shrinking a little into the bed. He doesn’t like that look in Nate’s eye, not one bit, except he totally will masturbate thinking about it forever. It’s a predatory look, a ‘gonna eat you alive’ look.

He grips Wade by the throat without warning, leaning back to put a little leverage into it. “Tell me what you want.”

Wade can feel his cheeks warm, knows it spreads down his neck, hard to see under all the scars but there for that scrutinizing gaze to note. A lot of fantasies dance temptingly through his head, but he figures maybe he should start off easy, since Nate’s so kindly condescending to throw him a lay now. “Fuck me raw. Make me scream.”

“Maybe I’d rather put your mouth to better use for me.”

“That’s good too!” Wade grins, eager to please. “I won’t even use teeth, just for you.”

Nate smirks thinly, hand sliding up Wade’s neck to grip his jaw, pulling him in close. It’s controlling, uncomfortable, and definitely a turn on. For both of them, if the hardness grinding roughly against him is any indication.

“What do you _want_ , dumbfuck?”

“Wanna suck that big cock,” Wade groans. “Want it in my mouth, want you to fuck my mouth, choke me on it, come down my throat.”

“Jesus, Wade,” Nate sneered, eye flickering over Wade like he’s looking for any sign of doubt. Wade shows none. “Yeah, okay... lets make that pretty mouth work for me.”

Wade, already stripped bare, lets himself be shoved out of the bed after Nate rolls out of the way. He watches Nate eagerly as he toys with his belt, finally opening it like he’s decided Wade _deserves_ it, and then thumbs open his fly. Wade finds his mouth actually watering as Nate’s huge cock springs free, hard and proud. Moisture beaded at the tip, and Wade couldn’t wait to taste.

Scuttling forward to the edge of the bed, Wade kneels between Nate’s thighs, staring up at him and licking his lips. He hadn’t sucked dick in a minute, and this was prime dick, begging to be sucked. Nate grasps his cock, tapping it against Wade’s spit-damp lips.

“Open up,” Nate says hoarsely, and Wade obediently parts his lips, allowing Nate to feed his cock into Wade’s waiting mouth. Wade, delighted and more than a little overeager, licks around the head, lapping up the precome around the slit and moaning at the new taste on his tongue before swallowing Nate down all at once. “Fuck, Wade, you’re so damn pretty with your lips stretched around me.”

Wade hums, concentrating on keeping his teeth out of the way as Nate began to thrust shallowly. Testing the waters, testing _Wade_. Wade growled deep in his throat and grabbed Nate’s ass, forcing his hips forward and his cock in deep. He gagged, then swallowed around Nate’s cock quickly, forcing his throat to relax until his nose was buried in the wiry hair at the base. Nate let out a long, low groan and Wade quickly pulled off, gasping, a line of spit connecting his mouth to the slick dick in front of him.

Before Nate could say anything, Wade wraps his lips around the head of Nate’s cock again and tugs at Nate’s hips in invitation. Nate took the hint and began to thrust deep down Wade’s throat, fucking his mouth in a rhythm that made them both moan. Wade's hand was hot on his own cock as Nate used him, occasionally making him gag as the head hit the back of his throat.

“Christ, Wade, yeah, choke on it,” Nate groans. “Suck it like you actually mean it, _fuck_.”

Mouth too full to do anything else, Wade only hums again in low assent, bobbing his head a little more forcefully. Nate seems to approve, hands gripping the sides of his head, hard, hips working in carefully measured force.

He doesn’t warn Wade that he’s close or praise him, he says _nothing_ , focused on breathing and fucking Wade’s face just the way Wade wants. He just keeps going, keeps moving, using Wade like a toy, and he _loves it._ Loves being Nate’s toy, because Nate knows how to use him, instinctively. You’d think they’d have done this a hundred times, how perfectly Nate is delivering his performance, but Wade is deeply aware this is their first time together. It’s satisfying in a weird way.

Finally, Nate thrusts deep inside Wade’s mouth, and Wade has to fight hard not to yark when come hits the back of his throat. He swallows around Nate until he feels him twitch, oversensitive, then lets Nate’s cock fall from his mouth, breathing hard. His hand moves slower, more firmly, on his own dick, his own orgasm hazy on the horizon.

“Jesus Christ,” Nate breathes, looking down at him, watching him, “Who told you you could touch yourself?”

His hand stills but doesn’t leave his cock, and Nate smirks.

“You’re really so fucking starved for this, aren’t you? What’s wrong, Wade, you been lonely?” A lip curls, disgust on his face that doesn’t touch his eyes. His eyes are kind, amused and keen on Wade, watching him like he’s a favourite program he rarely indulges in. “Well? You gonna rub one out, or are you _shy_ now?”

Wade shifts up onto his knees, spreading his legs, leaning back a little to put himself on display as he starts jerking himself in sincerity, grip a little too tight, pace a little too fast. It hurts, but it’s so good, so good with Nate watching.

“Shit, you can’t even jack off properly on your own,” Nate huffs. “You’re not strangling anything, idiot, loosen your grip. That’s right, easy, good boy.”

A low whimper leaves Wade at that, his arm shaking as he focuses on moving slow and measured, putting on a show for Nate. He feels dirty and debauched, spit and come drying on his chin as he drops his head back, picking up the pace a little, twisting his wrist before the down stroke.

“Would it be easier to come if I were fucking you like you don’t matter?” Nate asks, and Wade hesitates a moment, memorizing the rough growl for later, before laughing, looking up to make eye contact. Nate is smirking again, that ‘eat you alive’ look back on his face.

And Wade is so distracted by that that when something blunt and firm presses impossibly at his ass, he yelps, fumbling for balance.

“Yeah, I think that’ll get you off much faster.” Nate, casual and cool as Wade falls over backwards, landing with his legs spread wide. His knees are bent, hand immediately returning to his dick. The pressure at his entrance increases, until he feels himself opening to it.

Breath hitching, he arches off the floor, looking at Nate, still sitting on the bed, grinning as his eye flares. The sensation of something pushing inside intensifies, like a cock sliding home, slow and steady. Prep would have been nice; it burns and the stretch is almost too much, but he _had_ asked to be fucked raw, hadn’t he?

Tossing his head to one side, burying his cheek against the carpet, he moans out his pleasure. “Holy shit, Nate, would you fucking _move_ that thing?”

For a moment, everything is still, Wade forgetting to even move his hand on himself, and then the hard force in his ass pulls back, dragging roughly at his insides, and slams back in hard, burning and sweetly aching, making Wade cry out. Whatever Nate’s doing to him, it’s _wonderful_ , and when that invisible force shoves his knees apart and fucks into him so hard he feels the carpet cutting into his back, he screams.

There’s a sensation like hands on his legs, lifting them, arranging them to fuck him at a better angle, and another hand, airy and invisible but no less strong for that, wrapping around his own, guiding his hand on his cock, setting the pace, making him work. Through it all, he can see Nate sitting on the edge of the bed, watching avidly.

“You really are a fucking mess, aren’t you?” Nate says, voice just a little rough, betraying his attempt at being detached. “You should see yourself. So open, so eager for me to fuck you. Maybe I’ll stick my dick in you next time, give you what you really want.”

Rubbing his face into the carpet, breath hitching, Wade squeezes his eyes closed, reveling in the sensations. Maybe its the being touch starved, or maybe it’s the filthy way Nate talks while fucking him so thoroughly, but he swears this is the best sex he’s ever had – there’s a flurry of other touches laid on him, like countless hands petting over his chest, stomach, fingers entwining with his own, brushing his cheeks, ridiculously gentle compared to the savage pounding his ass is getting.

A camera shutter clicks, and his eyes flash open, neck craning to look at Nate, who’s openly grinning now as he angles his cellphone to snap another picture. “God, you look good like that,” he says, glancing at Wade. The hand guiding his masturbation speeds up, and Wade isn’t sure if Nate caused that or if he did, so close now. “Yeah, you’re close. You can do it, that’s right, come for me, Wade. Come for me.”

Wade just about howls as the orgasm sweeps over him, smashing his head back into the carpet and thrashing under all those invisible hands. They hold him down, the telekinetic cock in his ass continuing to fuck him as he comes, splattering his abdomen in spunk. And then, all at once, the touches disappear, everywhere, leaving him crashing and alone back into his own aching skin. He lowers his legs gingerly, ass sore still, limbs shaking slightly.

“C’mon,” Nate says, quieter now, tone different. Wade can barely spare him a look, but is torn between relief and disappointment to see that he’s tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped up again. Hasn’t bothered with the belt yet, though, so it hangs loose, jingling softly as he gets to his feet and moves to Wade’s side. “Can you stand?”

“Trying to kick me out already?” Wade says, trying to roll to face him, managing to flop halfway over.

“Trying to get you off the floor, shit for brains.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“Cockslut.”

Wade’s never heard that word uttered so fondly before, and groans as Nate scoops him up off the floor, carrying him to bed. “I’m not ready for round two yet, honey bear, but please, keep talking.”

“Shut up, Wade,” Nate says, but his tone is indulgent, laying him on the bed and crawling in beside him. “You need anything?”

Turning over carefully, relishing the soreness that’s already fading away, Wade meets Nate’s eyes, grinning. “I wanna see your phone.”

“Try again, boytoy.”

Wade pouts, but it gets him nowhere. Finally, he settles on his back, staring up at the ceiling of Nate’s room. It’s bland and untextured white, unmarred by anyone throwing knives at it or anything. And the floor, so clear of clutter. It’s all very spartan, very soldier-neat, and Wade kind of likes that in contrast to his shithole living space.

“I should go?” He offers, uncertainty turning what he means to be a statement into a question.

And Nate, scooting closer, just rests his head on his shoulder, draping an arm across the width of his chest, gently pushing him back against the pillows. “Go to sleep, asshole,” is what he says, but Wade, well, what he hears is someone asking him to stay.

And he can’t pass that up.


End file.
